


Crazy Faith

by ivyfic



Series: Daylight Falls [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-18
Updated: 2007-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyfic/pseuds/ivyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sam saw the Impala in West Texas.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Remember how angsty [Morning in the Evening](http://archiveofourown.org/works/169797) was? This time we turn it up to eleven.  
> The golden trophy of beta awesomeness goes to [](http://trakkie.livejournal.com/profile)[**trakkie**](http://trakkie.livejournal.com/) for putting up with my endless stream of angst and making me tone it down a smidge until it's juuuust right.

  
**I.**

Sam saw the Impala in West Texas.

He was in a small town, like a scratch in the cracked soil of the desert—a bit of civilization clinging together against the emptiness that surrounded it on all sides. Sam hadn't found a hunt in weeks, and he'd gotten into the habit of just driving his truck at random across the middle of the country at times like this. It was easier than staying still.

He just saw the rear fins, disappearing around the corner, but he recognized them. He didn't know how, but he knew it wasn't just any Impala, it was _the_ Impala. Dean's Impala.

He was on foot at the time, his shoes getting slowly caked with red desert dirt. He'd just been thinking about buying cowboy boots, like all the residents seemed to wear. The sun was still up but he'd called it a night anyway, figuring that if he kept driving it might be hours before he hit another place with a motel. He'd slept in his truck before, but it got cold in the desert at night and he didn't like to if he could avoid it.

He ran after the Impala, but by the time he got to the corner it was gone. It seemed to have vanished into the desert—the town should have been too small for Sam to lose it so quickly: just a truck stop with a topless bar across the street, a few stores and houses to support the people who worked there.

His heart was pounding and he felt like he'd swallowed the whole desert, dry and dusty in his throat. He'd always had Dean's number, of course, but he'd never called it. Lately keeping it on his speed dial had seemed stupid—Dean probably didn't even have the same phone anymore. Maybe he'd been driving constantly for the last four years because part of him expected to stumble across Dean cast ashore in some Smalltown, USA.

Sam stood on the corner for a moment, looking at where the Impala must have gone. He hooked his fingers in the loops of his jeans and just stood there until his heart slowed down. He turned back towards where he'd parked the pickup, thinking of where he could ask. Somebody must have noticed a vintage car like that, even if it had only been here a day or two. And a town like this couldn't have too many drifters wandering through.

He went to the topless bar. A neon sign on the pink roof declared "Nightmoves." Classy. Since it was mid-afternoon, the doors were open and the bar was serving, but the poles on the stage were empty. Fully lit, the interior looked shabby—kitschy in all the wrong seventies-porno ways. He walked up to the bar, eyeing the one man in a cowboy hat slumped down at the end.

"Can I get you anything?" the bartender asked.

"Johnny Walker Red on the rocks," Sam replied. He wanted to launch straight into an interrogation but held himself back. What was it Dean always said, that he was the one good with people? Maybe that had only been by comparison. Right now he didn't think he could sweet-talk his way into anything.

He took a few sips of his drink and waited for the bartender to walk back towards him. "I'm new in town," he said, trying for endearing.

"Knew that."

"Well, I was just wondering if you knew any way to pass the time."

"Girls don't come on till seven," the bartender said, not even looking at Sam. "Feel free to ask 'em but if they say no and you don't back off…" he pointed to a shotgun resting on a shelf among the bottles.

"No, no," Sam said, waving his hand. He swallowed a bit of the whisky wrong and spent the next few minutes hacking. This finally got the bartender to look at him, smiling a bit as Sam's face turned red. "I, uh…" His voice came out husky and strange and he cleared his throat a couple of times until it felt normal again. "Actually, I'm more interested in vintage cars."

"Then what the hell are you here for?"

"Well, when I came into town I thought I saw an old Chevy." He covered his sudden nervousness by taking a sip of whisky. "A 1967 Chevy Impala. Pretty rare car—wondering if you knew who owned it."

"That thing," the bartender said, curling his lip a little. "That's Dean Winchester's. You should hear him talk about it. He never shuts up, calls it his baby." He rolled his eyes. "Don't even bother trying to get a closer look at it. People say he keeps a gun in the glove box to scare off thieves. You've got a better chance getting a close look at a rattlesnake than at that car."

Sam couldn't get a word out for a few seconds. "Dean Winchester?" He swallowed and tried to regain an air of disinterest. "Like the gun?"

"Yup. Good mechanic, keeps to himself."

Sam's eyes bugged out a little bit. "Where does he live?"

"I told you you're never gonna get near that car, but if you want to take your chances, suit yourself. He lives outside of town, got a little house a few miles down the road."

Sam thanked the bartender for the whisky and stumbled out into the dimming light. The sunset painted the sky and the desert in magnificent colors, but the words "mechanic" and "house" just kept spinning around in his head. Dean was here. Not just passing through.

Dean _lived_ here.

~*~

Sam got a bunk at the truck stop—just a bed in a room with a door, like a locker for people. Or a morgue. The showers down the hall were coin-operated. Sam kept a little Tupperware container of quarters in the cab for these and for laundry machines. When he'd traveled with Dean, they'd usually crashed in motels. Pay-by-the-hour places mostly, but at least a room with two beds and a shower. Now that it was just him he didn't see the point of looking for anything more comfortable than this most of the time.

He lay awake all night listening to the rumbling of big rigs pulling in to the diesel pumps and driving off on their way to Pecos. He felt like a caterpillar trapped in a chrysalis.

 _Dean was here_.

He took a few more shots of Johnny Walker from his flask and closed his eyes, but he wasn't fooling his body into going to sleep.

~*~

He followed the directions the bartender gave him the next morning. When the morning light started slanting through the slats in the door to his almost-room he sat in the dark trying to figure the best time to drive over there. He didn't want to be too early and wake Dean up, but if he waited too long, Dean might have gone to work. If he had work to go to. Then it was late morning and Sam wondered if Dean would come home for lunch or if he should wait till evening. He didn't know what he'd do if he went over there and no one was home. Wait on the stoop? Leave a note? How would he even know he had the right place?

At about eleven he remembered it was a Saturday and hopped in his truck.

The house was back along the way he'd come into town. He hadn't noticed it at the time, but it was unmistakable now. It was small but neat, freshly-painted, like someone was taking good care of it. There was a yard in front, dry, cracked dirt and some scrub brush. Whoever lived here had no pretensions that they were living anywhere but in the desert; no expensive irrigation system to make grass grow unnaturally green the way everyone seemed to have out in Arizona. There was a split rail fence along the side of the road, the house set well back, though the trucks rolling through still probably made the windows rattle in their frames.

But the reason he knew it was the right place was the Impala. It was parked in what Sam guessed was the driveway, though there was no real delineation between that and the rest of the yard. Two pointed-tipped cowboy boots attached to lean jean-clad legs stuck out from underneath.

Sam drove straight past the first time. It was stupid, he knew, but it seemed too abrupt to just pull into the driveway. He was two miles down the road before he talked himself into pulling a U-turn and going back. This time he pulled the truck over about fifty yards from the house, throwing it into park. He walked the rest of the way, his eyes never leaving those boots sticking out from under the Impala, toes occasionally tapping against the air to an unheard rhythm.

He reached the driveway and made himself take a couple of steps beyond the fence, feet firmly on his brother's property. But he didn't know what to do after that. Had this been five years ago he would have walked right up and yanked Dean's feet, pulling him out into the sunlight. But had it been five years ago he wouldn't be standing here, looking at the house his brother owned.

After a few minutes, the feet dug into the dirt, knees bending, pulling Dean out from under the car. His brother rolled towards the house; Sam could see red dust across his shoulders and in his hair, just as short as it had been when he'd last seen it. Though Dean was still a few dozen yards away, he could hear it clearly when his brother spoke.

"Hey, Sammy, come here." Sam's heart stopped. Had Dean seen him? He took half a step forward before he saw that Dean was addressing someone else.

A little girl appeared from behind the bumper of the car, thick black hair plaited at the nape of her neck, wearing a blue jumper. She couldn't have been more than three.

Dean sat up further when she got closer to him. "Show me your hands," he said. She stuck out her hands, palms up, and he inspected them closely. "OK, now wash up and you can help mommy with lunch."

Sam was rooted to the spot. It was like he didn't exist at all, like he was looking through a window into a life he could never be part of. That was Dean with a baby girl. _Dean had a daughter_.

Dean stood up fluidly, following after the toddler as she walked towards the front porch. When she reached the steps, she turned around and stopped. Dean immediately whipped his head around to see what had caught his daughter's attention. His eyes locked on Sam.

Neither of them moved. Dean looked shocked and Sam couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The little girl sat down on the front step and started picking pebbles up out of the dirt, collecting them in her hand. The screen door opened, then banged shut, pulled on a too-tight spring, and a woman stepped out from the house. She was dressed in a simple floral-patterned dress. And she was pregnant.

The noise seemed to startle Dean out of his shock. He launched himself towards Sam, still standing near the edge of the property. Sam couldn't move. Before he could think, Dean had barreled into him, knocking him a step back and squeezing both his arms around Sam's chest. Sam squeezed back, relief making his breath rush out like a sob.

"Sammy," Dean said into his shoulder, then stepped back. He knocked his hand against Sam's cheek. His grin looked like it was splitting his face. His skin was darker, whether from tan or from dirt, Sam couldn't tell. Sam felt his heart stop beating. Next thing Sam knew he was being hauled back toward the house.

The woman swung the girl up into her arms, resting her against one hip. She looked at Sam dubiously. Sam suddenly remembered the two days of stubble on his chin, the clothes he hadn't changed since yesterday.

"This is my brother. Sammy," Dean said with a grin when they'd drawn even.

"I'm Sammy!" the girl protested.

"Of course you are, pumpkin," Dean said, giving her a kiss on the head. "Sam, this is my wife Deb and my daughter, Samantha."

"Uh…hi," Sam said. This wasn't the reception he'd expected, not after the way he and Dean had parted ways. And he'd never expected to meet Dean's _wife_. They didn't have Hallmark cards for these sorts of things: Sorry I missed the wedding, your husband and I have been estranged ever since he banged my girlfriend.

Deb continued to stare at him, not unkindly, but with trepidation, the way you'd look at a stray dog when you didn't know if it would bite you or lick your palm. When Sam looked at the girl, she tucked her face into the crook of her mother's neck.

Dean stroked her hair. "Sweetheart, say hi to your uncle Sam." She shook her head a little in the protection of her mother's arms. Sam didn't know what to say. He was looking at his _niece_ , the next in the Winchester line. Between him and Dean he always thought he'd be the family man, but he was looking at proof that he'd been wrong. Beautiful, round-cheeked proof. He couldn't take his eyes off the girl, couldn't stop himself from wondering if Jess had lived if his own daughter would have looked like that.

Dean stared at him and took in how Sam was looking at his daughter and wife. It was one of the most uncomfortable silences Sam had ever experienced.

After a moment, Dean cleared his throat to call his attention back. "Awkward," he sing-songed, then motioned Sam to come inside.

~*~

They sat in Dean's kitchen. There was a calico tablecloth on the table with a few tomato stains. It matched the curtains, stains and all. It had taken a few minutes to get Sammy's hands washed and get her settled into her high chair before Dean and his wife took seats on either side of her, with Sam opposite. Dean held out the chair for Deb.

It was all so home-spun and normal. The last time Sam had eaten a meal like this had been when Jess had taken him home to meet her parents.

Dean reached over to Sammy's plate and cut her hot dog into bite sized chunks. She seemed content to smear them around in ketchup, studiously not looking at Sam.

"So," Deb said, clearing her throat. "You're Dean's brother."

Sam looked over at Dean, confused and, he hated to admit, a little hurt. "You didn't—"

"Oh, he told me he had a brother. He always said he'd lost you. I just figured that meant you were dead." Deb cleared her throat again. Sam looked over at Dean, but Dean was just staring at his plate, pushing his food around in a motion eerily like his daughter's. "I guess he just meant…you were lost."

Silence hung for a few moments, Sam trying to figure out what to make of this. "Uh," he said, quite sure he didn't want to tell Dean's wife about the details. "We had an argument."

"Uh-huh," she said a little disbelievingly, looking at her husband with a raised eyebrow.

Finally Sam blurted out, "You got _married_?"

"Looks like," Deb said, flattening out the vowels.

"Why didn't you call me?" Sam asked.

"Well," Dean finally looked up. "You said you needed space."

"Dean, you could've invited me to your wedding."

"Well, it wasn't much of a ceremony—" Dean started, clearly hedging.

"We got married in the county clerk's office," Deb cut in. She reached over to cover her daughter's ears. "It was kind of a shot gun wedding," she stage-whispered. Sammy looked up at her mom and waved with a piece of hot dog on her fork.

"Without the shot gun," Dean quickly added.

"You could've at least told me that you had a daughter."

Dean looked a little edgy. "Uh…"

"That you named after me," Sam hissed.

"Actually," Deb cut in, "Samantha's from my family—it was my grandmother's name."

Sam could feel himself blushing. "Oh."

"You could've told me you were coming into town," Dean said petulantly.

"Wasn't sure your cell phone still worked."

"Well, did you try it?" Dean asked.

"Um, actually, I didn't know you were here. I was just stopping at the truck stop, on my way to El Paso."

"Oh." It was just one syllable, but it was a whole world of disappointment.

"I…saw the Impala driving through town yesterday."

They sat in silence for a moment. Sammy started banging her fork against the plastic plate. Dean stood and gently took the plate and utensil away from her, picking up his still-full plate as well and carrying them to the sink. "Guess you'll be on your way, then. You should get to El Paso before dark if you leave now."

"Dean," Sam said, recognizing an edge of a whine in his voice that he hadn't used since the last time he'd been around his brother. "I didn't know how to call you. Wasn't sure you'd want to hear from me."

Dean banged the plates into the sink. "Of course I wanted to hear from you." He sighed.

"You could've called, too," Sam pointed out.

"Hey, you're the one who said you needed space, not me." He turned around. "Why don't you go on to El Paso, and when you're done with whatever job you have, come back for a few days." He looked cautiously optimistic.

"I don't have a job in El Paso. I'm sort of between—" he looked over at Deb, remembering, suddenly, that she was in the room with them. "Wait," he said looking back at Dean. "How did you know I was still taking…'jobs.'"

Dean grimaced guiltily. "I might have…accidentally…hacked your cell phone's GPS."

Sam started. "You've been spying on me?"

"You told me you wanted time alone," Dean said hotly. "It's not like I went and forgot I had a brother."

"OK," Deb said, looking between the two of them. "Why don't Sammy and I go into town and leave the two of you to talk."

"Ice cream?" Sammy piped up hopefully.

"Sure, honey, why not. It's not every day you find out you've got an uncle." She hoisted Sammy up and made her way to the screen door. "You boys," she said pointing first at Sam, then at Dean, "talk." The door banged shut behind her. Dean looked cowed.

"She's kind of scary," Sam said.

"No kidding."

~*~

"I need a beer," Sam said into the silence in the kitchen.

"You drink before noon?" Dean asked.

"It's after noon."

"Whatever."

"Yes, I drink before noon on days when I run into my estranged brother in bumfuck Texas and meet his pregnant wife and kid."

"I'm not estranged."

"What do you call it when we don't talk for four years?"

"I call it you having one of your hissy fits. Like Stanford."

"Stanford was not a hissy fit!" Sam snapped back, then sighed.

"So," Dean said. "Beer, then?"

"Hell, yeah."

Dean pulled two beers out of the fridge. When he turned back toward Sam a slow grin spread over his face, like he couldn't even pretend to hold it back. "I'm glad you're here, Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam said, grinning back. "Me, too."

They settled into a floral couch in the living room. The cushions sagged a bit, tilting them towards each other. Dean left the lights off, letting the bright sunlight bounce off the painted white floorboards to illuminate the room. Sam picked at the label on the beer.

"So," he said. "Guess you know what I've been doing."

"Sorta." Dean shrugged. "I know where you've been. I can make an educated guess as to what you've been doing. Except for the few times you made the papers—those I read about."

Sam smiled.

"What I don't know is why. I thought you wanted the whole…white picket fence thing. I thought that was why you…" He let the sentence hang there, but Sam could hear the rest of it. _That was why you left me_.

Sam stared out across the room. "Didn't really take."

"Yeah?" It was clearly meant as a question but Sam ignored it.

"What about you? I thought hunting was your life. Didn't figure you for the 'white picket fence' thing."

"Hey, did you see a picket fence?" Dean asked.

"No, really, Dean. You were always the one who said we couldn't do normal. So what's all…" he gestured around at the living room, with its end tables and knick-knacks on the bookshelves.

"I didn't exactly plan it," Dean said defensively. "I kept hunting for a while, and then I stopped for a while, and then I was married."

"What, like you got drunk and woke up in Vegas with a wedding band? How do you just _get married_?"

"Hey, it's not like a caught the plague." Dean took another swallow. "We were fooling around and she got pregnant. It just sort of happened."

"Are you…" Sam had meant to ask _are you happy_ , but halfway through he thought better of it. What if Dean was? He wanted his brother to be happy, of course he did, but thinking of him here, comfortably settled with his happy little family, made thinking about all those miles he'd spent on the road hurt.

"So…" Dean spoke into the silence. "You still keep in touch with Ellen and Bobby and them?"

"Yeah," Sam said. Ellen never talked to him about Dean, but he didn't know if that meant that Dean had dropped off the radar or if Dean had asked her not to tell him. Though if it was the latter, Ellen had a way of letting confidences slip when it suited her purposes.

"How are they?"

"You haven't talked to them?"

"No," Dean said. "Figured you didn't want to have to keep hearing about me from other people. Salt, wound, all that."

Dean said it like it was nothing, but—it was like Sam had won some sort of weird custody battle for their friends. Dean hadn't said anything, just capitulated, let Sam have the support he needed. He suddenly thought back to an argument he'd had with Dean a long time ago, when he thought he'd be the one going back to a normal life. He'd told Dean he could hunt on his own. _Yeah, well I don't want to_.

"You have to give Ellen a call," Sam said. "She'll flip. I bet Jo'll cry."

"Jo," Dean said, leaning back into the cushions. "Don't tell me she still—"

"No," Sam said. "She's made quite a name for herself. Last I heard she'd taken up with another hunter. I think she always sort of wondered about you, though."

"Bobby?"

"Same old, same old."

They were silent for a few minutes, nursing their beers. "It's funny," Dean said, looking up at the ceiling. "When I looked over and saw you standing there, at first…I thought it was Dad."

~*~

When Deb and Sammy returned, Sammy had speckles of chocolate ice cream all down the front of her jumper. She ran right up to Dean and made little grabby motions with her sticky hands until he picked her up. "Cone?" he asked his wife.

"With sprinkles."

After Dean got her cleaned up and changed into a fresh jumper, he brought her out to the yard, motioning Sam to follow.

"Hey, girl, want to show your uncle how smart you are?" he asked, walking toward the Impala. He propped Sammy on one hip and reached through the driver's side window to pop the hood. Sam followed behind, bemused, and propped the hood up with the support strut.

Dean walked around to the front, holding Sammy so she could look down at the engine.  
He pointed then asked her, "Is this the battery?" She shook her head. "Is it…the windshield wipers?" She shook her head again. "Alright. I know—it's the exhaust, right?" This earned a giggle and a drawn-out, "No!" "Is it the gas pedal?" Sammy pushed at his mouth and said, "Silly."

"Yeah, you're right. You're dad's being silly." Sammy nodded in agreement. "You know, I just don't remember what it is. Do you know what it is?"

"Spark plugs!" Sammy crowed in triumph.

Sammy had a little trouble with her r's, but she was unmistakably right. Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, what are you doing to that poor girl?"

"Don't listen to him, pumpkin." Dean leaned in close to his daughter's face. "Your uncle's just jealous 'cause he's never known that." He blew a raspberry against her cheek and she laughed.

"Sammy wants to be a mechanic, just like her daddy," Deb said to Sam. She'd been watching the whole scene indulgently. "I can't tell you how many of her jumpers I've had to throw out 'cause she got engine oil on them."

"Aren't you starting her a little young?" Sam asked.

"Never too young to appreciate fine American craftsmanship, ain't that right?" Dean said.

"Right!" Sammy piped up.

"Dean," Sam laughed. "You sound like a Texan." Sam had been noticing a particular twang in his brother's speech since he arrived—not quite as pronounced as his wife's, but still there.

"Well," Dean shrugged. "I guess I am a Texan."

"Don't let any of the boys at the shop hear you say that," Deb interjected. "They'll never let me hear the end of it."

~*~

Deb retired to the porch to get out of the sun for awhile, still close enough to keep an eye on her daughter. Dean stood around awkwardly for a few minutes as if he knew he should be playing host but didn't know how, then went back to fiddling with his engine. Sam just stood there, watching his brother, thinking about seeing Dean doing the exact same thing many times over the years.

Sam felt a tug on his pant-leg and looked down. Sammy was standing there, one hand holding Sam's jeans, the other stretched upward with a pebble. "Gift!" she said, then repeated it until Sam took the pebble. Sam was a bit puzzled, but Sammy toddled away, mission accomplished.

A little bit later she came back and tugged on Sam's pant-leg again. "Gift!" Sam took the new pebble.

Dean looked at him over his shoulder and smiled. "I see you've found Sammy's favorite game."

"Bet she loves Christmas," Sam said. Dean laughed and turned back to the engine.

Sam sat down cross-legged in the dirt when Sammy came back, which seemed to satisfy her. She started a steady babble of words that Sam mostly couldn't make out—something about lipstick and flowers. It was like she was talking in code and Sam didn't have the decoder ring. He bet Dean understood every word out of her mouth. He wondered, if he'd been here since she was born, if he'd understand her too.

They amassed a small collection of stones between them. Sam started laying them out in a pentagram—earth, air, fire, water, spirit—but Sammy picked them up and rearranged them at random. He looked at her pudgy little hands and wispy black hair, her round legs, still softened by baby fat. She was a marvel. He found himself smiling at the wonder of it.

He'd never told Dean, but he'd always wanted kids. For awhile he had allowed himself to dream about blond-haired babies with Jess. That was one of the things he'd loved most about Jess—that when he was with her he could think about the future. There was no uncertainty, no dread that his father would yank him away just when he was getting comfortable, no fear that the people he depended on would leave in the middle of the night and never come back. He felt rooted, felt like he could plan for their future together. And that was one of the hardest things about losing her. He didn't just lose Jess, he lost the clapboard house and two and a half kids and golden retriever in the yard.

It had taken a long time after Stanford, but he'd started allowing himself to think about the future again. This time it was hunting and motels and the Impala and Dean. But he'd still allowed himself to think that in their lifestyle there was some sort of permanence. He'd lost that too.

Sam hesitantly brushed his hand over Sammy's fine hair. She smelled like baby powder. She looked up at him and smiled, then went back to systematically disassembling the pentagram. Dean had found a future for himself here, he'd found his own permanence. Sam wanted to believe he could still be a part of it.

~*~

Dean grabbed another beer for Sam after dinner. It had taken a while to get Sammy into bed; Sam had sat in the living room listening to the noises of a bath and two bedtime stories, and—Sam was surprised to hear—a prayer. All told, it took until 6:30 to get her settled.

Sam was shell-shocked by the domesticity of it all. He couldn't remember ever having a bedtime like this one, though he must have, before his mother died. Dean had usually been the one responsible for getting him ready for bed, and having an older brother corralling you led to a lot of disorder and frequent battles over toothbrushes and bath toys. Dad had stepped in to mediate sometimes, but he wasn't always there.

"First time she slept through the night," Dean said, walking into the living room. "Happiest night of my life." He threw himself backwards into the sofa, jostling Sam. Sam noticed that his sleeves were rolled up, but still slightly dampened. Dean laid his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes.

"Don't get too fond of your sleep, honey," Deb said, following him. "You're the one who wanted another one. That means you get midnight diaper duty." Dean curled his lip but didn't open his eyes.

"I'm the one who has to get up for work in the morning."

"And I'm the one who has to watch your kids all day." Deb kicked him lightly in the shin with her bare foot.

Sam sat silently, watching. It was like watching a fifties sitcom that someone had mistakenly dropped his brother into. It wasn't just that Dean had a kid—he was a _dad_.

"So," Sam said. "How did you two meet?"

Dean laughed. "Well," Deb drawled out. "You pass Nightmoves on the way into town?"

"Nightmoves?"

"Kind of hard to miss—has a pink roof? Only place in town with beer on tap?"

"Oh," Sam said, blushing. "You were a waitress?"

"No, honey," Deb said, laughing at Sam's discomfort. "I was a pole dancer."

"Oh my god," Sam said, leaning forward and covering his face with one hand. He could feel his cheeks burning. Typical, he thought. So, so typical.

"You should've seen her," Dean said. "She was _hot_." Deb smacked his knee with her palm. "But she's hotter now," Dean amended.

"Your brother came in three nights in a row, didn't look up at the girls once. Just kept staring into his beer. So on the fourth night, I asked him out."

"I don't believe this," Sam groaned. "You get picked up when you're not even trying."

"What can I say, Sammy," Dean said with a grin. "Some of us have just got it."

"Dean," Sam whined. He leaned in closer and hissed through his teeth. "I can't believe you married a _stripper_."

Deb was laughing whole-heartedly. "You are so cute when you're embarrassed," she said to Sam. "Just like your brother."

"Hey," Sam said, looking speculatively at Dean. "When's he been embarrassed?"

"Hmm…" she said. "I seem to remember at the county clerk's office—"

"Don’t you dare!" Dean tried to interrupt her.

"When your brother asked Ruby Broadchest to be his lawfully wedded wife. Both he and the judge turned a nice shade of red."

"Hey, you never told me it wasn't your real name!" Dean protested.

"You thought _Broadchest_ was her actual name?" Sam said incredulously.

"Doesn't matter, though, does it," Dean said. "She's a Winchester now." He smiled and looked adoringly at his wife. Sam suddenly felt uncomfortable, the ease of the past few minutes evaporating. Dean was right—she was a Winchester. Sam didn't know why he was so upset about that. It wasn't like it was some secret club that had to have a group vote to approve a new member. It was Dean's choice to give his name to whomever he wanted. He looked at the two of them and thought about what Dean had told him when he'd left Stanford. _The family business_. Well, he thought. Guess it wasn't anymore.

"Still kind of like the name Ruby," Dean continued. "Has a certain ring, at times…"

"OK, whoa, that is definitely too much information," Sam cut in.

Dean sat up suddenly and set his beer on the table. Sam followed his line of sight and saw Sammy standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and wearing footie pajamas with frogs on them. Dean swiveled around the coffee table and crossed to her. "Hey baby, we wake you up?" he said, crouching down.

Sam couldn't make out the reply, but could hear the sleep-cracked voice of his niece, unmistakably cranky. Dean hoisted her up and made some quick signal to his wife that Sam couldn't decipher.

When he'd walked her back to her bedroom, Deb leaned conspiratorially close to Sam. "She's still adjusting to sleeping in a bed. We switched her from the crib a few months ago because of the baby, but she gets nightmares. And Dean being Dean won't tell her there's nothing in the closet to be afraid of. He just sleeps on the floor in there instead. Must be killing his back, but he doesn't complain about it."

Sam remembered his own childhood nightmares and how Dean's presence had been the only thing that calmed him down, too. Then he thought back to what Deb had said: Dean being Dean…

She must have noted the way he was looking curiously at her. "I know, Sam. Your great big family secret," she waved her hands. "I know all about it."

"He told you?" Sam asked. He hadn't expected that. Dean had seemed so sure about that after Cassie—hunting and normal life just didn't mix. He'd just assumed that Dean had turned his back on the supernatural, hidden all that from his wife. That Dean would tell her and still stay here being Joe Normal—it didn't make sense.

"He didn't really have a choice. He started pouring salt all over the place, carving things into the walls—I thought he was nuts." Sam huffed out a laugh. "I have to admit, even after he told me, I thought he was nuts."

"What changed your mind?" Sam said. He figured she'd seen something—a spirit or a creature. He'd had plenty of experience opening people's eyes to the true world around them. Some people were ready to believe as soon as anything got hinky; some people it didn't matter if they saw a fully-manifested demon, they'd still never believe.

"He was just so frantic about it. I remember the day exactly—it was May second." She looked at Sam. "Sammy was born on November second."

Sam felt a jolt go through him. Sammy was born on the anniversary of his mother's death. And on May second she was six months old exactly. It hadn't even occurred to him, but of course Dean would be terrified. That had been over two years ago. Why hadn't Dean asked him for help?

"I understand that's an important date for you boys."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah it is. Did anything…"

"Nothing at all. Except your brother staying up the whole night with a small arsenal in his lap."

Sam looked at her. "Then why did you believe him?"

Deb smiled. "I may not know much about what all you do, but I know my husband. He was scared of something real. I don't need any more proof to believe than that."

"Look," she said after a moment. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, and I'm sure you've had your reasons not to talk to him. But he's a good man. And a good father."

"I know," Sam said quietly. His eyes drifted to the doorway where Dean had disappeared with his daughter. "Our dad…left us alone a lot when we were little. Dean pretty much raised me." He hadn't thought too much about it growing up—that was just what Dean did. But now, seeing Dean with his daughter, he could see all the same things Dean had done for him, and when Sam had been that age, Dean had only been seven years old. _Jesus_.

"I think he needs to have somebody to take care of," Deb said, smiling softly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Sam said hesitantly.

"April, three years ago. Did something happen to you then?"

"I'm not sure… Why?"

"Dean disappeared for about a month around then. I'd just found out I was pregnant, hadn't told him. I was upset, started giving him the brush-off, and then one day he was just gone. I thought he got tired of me, went on to find greener pastures." Sam winced. She talked about it casually now, but Sam could imagine what it would have been like, finding out she was pregnant, then being abandoned by the father. He didn't know about back then, but the way Deb looked at his brother—she clearly loved him. She took a deep breath then smiled. "But then he came back. Asked me to marry him. I never asked him where he went, but—it was you, wasn't it?"

Sam thought back. "Three years ago… That would've been—that was a black dog. I was banged up pretty badly. I landed in the hospital, for about—" even as he said it, the pieces fit together, "a month."

Deb nodded.

"I—I didn't know. He didn't come to see me."

"Maybe he did."

Sam couldn't stop thinking about it. He'd cut Dean out of his life and even so he'd almost ended Dean's marriage before it started. When he'd first seen Dean here it had hurt to think that Dean had moved on with his life without him, not when he still thought about Dean every day. But that wasn't true. Even when he wasn't there he affected Dean's life.

Deb sat forward, breaking into Sam's thoughts. "You know, he spends about an hour on the computer every single night, always has. He must be looking after you, then, too."

"You never asked him?"

"No." Deb smirked. "I just figured he was watching porn."

Deb headed to bed after that, pulling out clean sheets for Sam to use on the couch. He lay in the dark for a long time thinking. His whole life, Dean had always been there for him. Even when he didn't want him to be, when he wished he were an only fucking child, when he ran away, pushed Dean away, he always knew that if he came back Dean would be there. It was just something he took for granted. Dean was his older brother, he belonged to Sam. He'd do anything for Sam. But looking up at the ceiling of the house where his brother lived with his wife and kid, Sam realized that wasn’t true. Dean didn't belong to him anymore. He belonged to them.

Sam didn't think he liked that.

  
 **II.**

Dean crawled into bed next to his wife around three in the morning. Sammy was out, contorted on her stomach in a way that was only comfortable for small children. He figured he could get about four hours of sleep before the morning bustle.

Deb rolled unconsciously in her sleep until Dean was spooned up behind her. He gently rested his arm over her waist, trying not to wake her. He splayed his hand over the rounding of her belly, hoping to feel the baby move. When he'd crossed back to the master bedroom, he'd seen that Deb had gotten Sam settled on the couch, accordioned up under the sheets. They'd lived here ever since little Sammy was born, but Dean had never realized that he didn't really think of it as his home. Until today.

~*~

When Dean cracked his eyes, he heard the shower running. He lay still for a moment, listening for movement in the rest of the house, but there was only silence. Sammy must not be awake yet. And Sam—his brother had never been a morning person, and Dean seriously doubted that had changed in a few years.

The water turned off, and Deb stepped into the bedroom, wrapping a towel around herself. Dean took a moment to appreciate the water glistening on as much of her skin as he could see. He wished she wouldn't cover up, but he knew she was self-conscious about the stretch marks.

"So," Deb said, picking up her comb from the dresser. She looked at Dean's reflection in the mirror. "What did you two fight about?"

Dean heaved a sigh and climbed out of bed. "It's complicated," he muttered and made for the bathroom.

"Of course it's complicated, it's family." Dean ran the water in the sink and wet the bristles of his toothbrush. Deb followed him to the door, flinging water droplets from the ends of her hair with each stroke of the comb. "Dean, come on."

Dean put toothpaste on his brush and stuffed it into his mouth. "I slept with his girlfriend," he mumbled around the brush.

Deb snorted. He turned to look at her. She was laughing! "What?" he said, then turned to spit out the toothpaste and rinse his mouth. "What?"

"God, Dean," Deb said, walking away from him. "You always get yourself into trouble by sticking your dick into things."

"Hey!" Dean said. He followed her into the bedroom and playfully grabbed for her towel. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, that's how you ended up married, isn't it?" Deb said haughtily.

"Oh, that's fighting dirty," Dean said. He grabbed for the towel again and she let him have it.

"I know the kind of guy a married," Deb said through a laugh. Dean tried to shut her up with a kiss, but Deb put her finger on his nose, holding him back so she could look at him. "Just as long as you know that if you put your dick into anyone—or any _thing_ —else, I'll cut it off."

"On that, I'm clear."

~*~

Sam wandered into the kitchen while Dean was feeding Sammy her breakfast. He rubbed his eyes blearily, and Dean was struck again at how much he looked like Dad. Add just a few streaks of grey to his hair, and with the stubble and the dimples, the resemblance was uncanny. It was something about the way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders, his gait, his eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Deb said from the sink, where she was rinsing dishes.

"Sleepyhead," Sam muttered. "As I recall, I was always the early riser in the family," he said to Dean.

"It's amazing how little sleep is actually necessary to survive," Dean said with a smile. Sammy whacked the handle of her spoon and pelted the side of Dean's head with Cheerios, then laughed uproariously at her joke. Sam snickered and made his way to the coffee-maker. Dean was surprised. Sam'd always ordered those frou-frou lattes—he'd tried to make Sam take his coffee like a man ever since he hit puberty. Guess all it took was being on his own for a while.

Sam took a sip from his mug, then winced. At Dean's questioning look, he waved his hand in the air and after a moment said, "Burnt my tongue."

"So," Dean said once Sam had gone back to blowing on his coffee, impatient for it to be cool enough to drink. "Got any plans for today? Anything you always wanted to see in Coyanosa, Texas, but never had the chance?"

"Not really, no." Sam shook his head. He waved vaguely outside with the hand not cradling his coffee. "Just let me get some stuff from my truck."

"I was wondering what you arrived in," Dean said. "Didn't figure you for just appearing out of the desert."

"Since that would probably make me an ifrit, yeah—no."

Dean widened his eyes and nodded towards Sammy, then gave a little shake with his head. Dean's wife might know, but he had no intention of ever explaining it to his kids. He knew well enough that once that innocence was lost you could never get it back.

"Oh," Sam said. "Sorry. I'll just—" He set his still steaming cup on the counter and headed out onto the porch, screen door banging behind him.

"You promised me you'd fix that," Deb said lightly.

"I will," Dean replied, and Sammy peppered him with Cheerios again.

~*~

While Deb cleaned up after breakfast, Dean ducked into his bedroom to change into a shirt Sammy hadn't decorated. When he stepped back into the kitchen, Sam had set up his laptop on the table and was doing something complicated with his cell phone and some cables. He looked up when Dean entered.

"So this is what you've been using to keep tabs on me." He indicated the cell phone, then went back to fiddling with the cables.

"Yup."

"Guess I'll have to switch carriers, now."

"Hey!"

"Kidding. Deb's outside with Sammy."

Dean stepped to the screen door to see his wife playfully chasing Sammy around the yard. Pregnant she might be, but she could still move. He turned back to Sam. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I got a message from one of my contacts—nobody you know," he added quickly. "Came across something he doesn't have time to handle, wondered if I might look into it. There we go," he said, finally getting the wires arranged. He pulled up a program on his screen, then punched something into the phone so that it played his voice mail through the computer's tinny speakers. There was an unmistakable static crackling on the message.

"Hey, that's got EVP on it," Dean said. He leaned over the back of Sam's chair.

"I know."

Dean pointed at the screen. "See if you can—"

"I've got it, Dean." Sam smiled and shook his head. He entered something on the keyboard, then Dean could see a little hourglass start slowly rotating on the screen.

"What is that?"

"I wrote an algorithm to isolate out the EVP."

" _You_ wrote…" Dean said, looking at his brother.

"OK, Ash wrote, but I helped. Beats the heck out of fiddling around with gain and playback speed on a tape player, though."

"Come on—you're taking all the fun out of it," Dean groused. The computer made a quiet "bing" noise.

"Let's see what we've got." Sam pressed play, and a ghostly voice came out of the speakers: _"Kill 'em all."_ It didn't matter how many times he heard it, that shit still gave Dean goose bumps.

"Well," he said. "That's cheerful." He quickly craned his head towards the kitchen door, making sure his daughter was well out of earshot. "Any idea who it is?"

"Frank had a few ideas," Sam said. He was already pulling up a map on his computer screen.

"Frank?"

"Frank Capriotti—he's a hunter."

"That contact I haven't met." Sam nodded. "Where is this nasty Casper?"

"Uh, it's in Las Cruces, New Mexico." Dean could tell his mind was already on the job. He'd always loved those early stages of the hunt, him and Sam bouncing theories back and forth. Sam's theories were always entertaining, but they weren't always crap. Dean had never admitted to how much he enjoyed seeing his brother's brain work. Right now it was like Sam was already a hundred miles down the road leaving Dean in the dust.

"That's just over the border," Dean said glancing at his watch. "We could be there by two o'clock."

That got Sam's full attention. "We?" Dean could have kicked himself. It had been four years. Of course his brother didn't need back-up. "You don't hunt anymore, Dean. You're…you know…Mr. Mom."

Dean shrugged sheepishly. "Doesn't mean I don't think about it. And it's just one spirit, right? Shouldn't take long to track down and salt the bones. In and out, no big deal."

"Who're you trying to convince, me or you?"

"Look, I'm not saying I want it to be like it was, but it's _one_ hunt. For old times' sake. It'll just be a few days, and then we can figure out…"

"Figure out what?"

"I don't know. We'll just figure something out."

"OK," Sam said dubiously. "But I don't think I'm the one you need to worry about convincing." He pointed toward the doorway where Deb was standing with her arms crossed.

~*~

Dean braced himself for a tough battle with his wife, but it turned out to be not as difficult a sell as he thought. He argued that he had done this for years and was in no danger—well, not very much; he argued that he needed time to bond with his brother; he argued that he hadn't taken a vacation in three years and if she let him do this, he'd offer to watch Sammy for a long weekend while Deb went to the spa with her sister, which she'd been hinting at for six months. Deb agreed to all of these points.

She gave her consent with one proviso: Dean be home in one piece in three days, whether the hunt was over or not. As she pointed out, Sam had been doing just fine for four years and Dean would not be abandoning him to come home. What he would be doing was abandoning his wife and daughter and there were only so many hours Deb could spend with her daughter in a row before strangling something, not when Sammy was using her newfound aptitude at hide-and-seek to such devastating effect.

Dean spat in his palm and stuck it out to shake on it. Deb just laughed and ruffled his hair. "Go have fun being a ghostbuster," she said.

"So," Sam said when Dean finally banged out onto the front porch. "She pack us a lunch?"

"Shut up." Dean shoved Sam's shoulder and Sam laughed.

They took Sam's truck. Dean had taken the gun rack out of the Impala last year, though he still kept the first aid kit. It would be weird road-tripping in something else, but at least Sam didn't fight him when Dean asked for the keys. Dean felt a little like he was cheating on his car. At least Sam had a tape deck in the dash, not some fancy MP3 player, which assuaged Dean's guilt somewhat.

Dean kissed his wife and daughter goodbye then climbed up into the cab, wondering why a man as tall as Sam needed to be that far from the road. "Alright," he said as he adjusted the side mirror. "Here we go." He popped in AC/DC and "Back in Black" poured from the speakers. Sam's truck was a rust-colored red, but the sentiment felt the same. Dean felt almost giddy. He looked over at Sam and saw a grin just as big as his on his brother's face. Then he stepped on the gas and spit dirt as he pulled onto the road. He could see Deb and Sammy waving at him in the rearview mirror.

~*~

They pulled in to Las Cruces a little after four. They hadn't said much on the drive, but Dean couldn't resist grooving along to the music and the familiar hum of the highway, and Sam hadn't stopped smiling from the passenger seat. Dean pulled into a one-story motel on a long commercial strip of road. As Sam made his way to the office to get a room (two queens, Dean thought with a grin), Dean crossed the street to the convenience store.

When he came back Sam was just grabbing their bags out of the bed of the truck. Dean followed him into the room, finding the clashing orange and brown décor and the thin polyester bed spreads strangely comforting. He was looking forward to being able to spread out as much as he wanted. He wouldn't trade Deb for anything but she was an incorrigible blanket-stealer.

Dean dumped his booty on the bed—Slim Jims, Doritos, Jolt cola, Ding Dongs and Pixie stix. All the things Deb wouldn't let him anywhere near anymore. Sam looked at the pile. "Making up for lost time?"

"You bet." Dean handed Sam a Pixie stick—one of those jumbo plastic ones with enough sugar to keep his daughter up for three days straight. Sam gnawed on the end as he booted up his laptop. Dean flipped open the local newspaper, pretending to be researching the case. _Wait for it_ …

Sam tipped his head back, emptying a mouthful of the Pixie stick onto his tongue. Then he choked and narrowly avoided spewing it onto his computer. He ran to the bathroom and stuck his tongue under the faucet. "Dean!" he said, once he could talk again. "What the hell was that?"

"Talcum powder," Dean said innocently. "Don't worry, Sam, it's completely non-toxic."

Sam launched himself at his brother, but Dean had a head start. He made it out of the room, throwing the door back at his brother, and was across the parking lot and onto the grassy berm that passed for the motel's lawn when Sam's longer stride caught up with him. Sam tackled his waist, no finesse, knocking him flat onto his back. Dean lost his breath, but couldn't tell if that was from the tackle or because he was laughing so hard. "You little bastard—talcum powder?" Sam said, trying to sound angry.

Dean managed to flip Sam and get him into a submission hold, though Sam's greater height and muscle mass prevented Dean from holding it for long. Sam pinned Dean, and Dean had to admit that he was a little out of shape. This was pathetic. Dean used his older brother privilege and twisted Sam's nipple until Sam let go and rolled sideways. "Ow! That's fighting dirty."

"Never fought fair before," Dean said, his breath coming in gusts. "Why start now?"

Sam swatted Dean's shoulder and laughed. They lay on their backs on the grass, staring up at the brilliant blue sky, panting a little. Dean had a huge grin on his face—it felt good.

"Talcum powder?" Sam said with a whine.

"Dude, you should have seen your face," Dean chuckled.

"I see fatherhood hasn't matured you at all. You're still a twelve-year-old at heart."

Dean shrugged, his shoulder brushing Sam's. He reached over and pinched Sam's bicep. Sam jerked his arm out of reach. "You've put on some muscle."

"What—are you saying I was a wimp before?"

"Just making an observation."

Sam pinched Dean's stomach. "And you've got a beer belly."

"I do not!" Dean said indignantly. "I'll have you know, having a toddler is an excellent workout."

"Whatever, man," Sam said. "You going to be able to handle yourself?"

Dean turned his head and gave Sam his best "you dare to doubt me?" look.

Sam laughed. "Man, it's good to see you. It's not the same…" he trailed off for a moment. "It's just not the same."

"I know what you mean," Dean said. He rolled onto his feet then extended his hand to haul his brother up.

It hadn't been like this between them, even before they parted ways. There was no tension now, the way there had been for months leading up to that incident in Georgia. Dean tried to think back to the last time it had been so… _easy_ to be with his brother. After Stanford there had always been something between them: first Jess, then Dad, then the secret, then that other thing. Maybe at some point in their childhood they'd been this comfortable, but Dean didn't think so. This felt like some sort of magical reprieve after everything that had happened. Dean hoped it would last.

~*~

Dean had promised he'd only be gone three days. It took five. It was a pretty straightforward case; they quickly pegged the ghost as a two-hundred year old suicide. Unfortunately, at some point about a hundred years ago, all the headstones in the local graveyard had been moved around. The current groundskeeper said it was something about the townsfolk wanting to impose order on the jumble of graves from the original settlement. Didn't matter why—it took forever to find the right grave.

Dean hadn't been thinking too much about it at the time, stuck on the adrenaline high of the hunt. He hadn't thought about his family—the family that wasn't working beside him—in five days. But now, sitting in the passenger seat as his brother pointed the truck back towards Texas, he did.

"Man, that totally rocked." Sam was grinning. "The way you tricked it into leading us to the right grave? Awesome."

Dean grunted.

"Dude, what's your deal?" Sam said, glancing quickly at Dean before looking back at the road. "You haven't said word one since we left the motel."

"Nothin'."

"Oh, give me a break. You can't tell me you've got nothing to say about getting back in the saddle. You can't tell me that didn't rock."

"Oh yeah," Dean said. "It totally rocked."

"Right," Sam said, starting to sound a little annoyed.

"I'm just worried. No big deal."

"'Bout what?" Sam asked.

"I promised Deb I'd be home two days ago."

"I'm sure she won't mind." Sam shrugged.

"Oh, you haven't known her that long or you wouldn't say that."

"So, you'll argue, you'll have fantastic make-up sex—" Dean smacked him on the arm. "I still don't see what the problem is."

Dean sat in silence for a moment before he answered. "The problem is I'm turning into Dad."

Sam's mouth pressed into a grimace. "I thought you were always the great defender of Dad's parenting skills."

"Oh, don't be like that," Dean snapped. "Dad did the best he could with what he had."

Sam glared out the windshield at the road illuminated by his headlights.

"It's just…" Dean trailed off. "My kids deserve better."

~*~

It was the middle of the night when they pulled up to his house. The lights were off. He hoped he'd be able to sneak into bed without waking Deb up.

Seeing that little shape silhouetted in the dark was doing weird things to his insides. It was like he'd never seen it before. Just a small building, but his wife and his daughter lived there. His family lived there. And he was getting embarrassingly chick flick thinking about it.

He stepped out of the cab and stretched to give himself a moment to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. But having his brother beside him, his wife and daughter so close—he felt complete, and that was just not something Dean Winchester ever felt.

"So, I guess this means no more hunting," Sam said, stepping around the front of the truck.

Dean startled out of his thoughts. "That's not what I said."

"Yeah," Sam said, "it pretty much is."

"I didn't say I would _never_ —"

"Oh, give me a break, Dean. What—this is going to be like the annual fishing trip? Every August you take a week with your brother and go waste a ghost? You've got to be kidding me." Sam sounded annoyed. Very annoyed.

"Oh don't get all soap opera on me," Dean said. "We'll figure something out."

Sam banged his fist against the hood of the truck and the noise startled Dean in the silence. "That's what you said last time." Sam's voice was low and angry.

"So? It's still true."

"You know what, Dean? That's bullshit. That's Dean-speak for you have no fucking clue what you're doing but you're not budging on this and if I want to stick around, I have to deal with it."

"Oh, come on," Dean whined. He didn't know why this was suddenly spiraling out of control. "It's late, dude. Why don't we just hit the sack and talk about it in the morning?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. "How do you picture this working, Dean? You stay here the happy family man and whenever I'm in West Texas I swing by? You call me to tell me about Sammy's first day of school and the cute thing your baby did and I call you when I end up on the wrong side of a werewolf? Is all that suddenly going to change in the morning?"

"Would that be so bad?" Dean said, his words choking in his throat. That's what he'd feared would happen to _him_ , that it would be Sam with the normal life and him on the outside, but he couldn't do anything more than that. He just couldn't. "You don't have to keep hunting," he added a bit petulantly.

"Yeah, I think I do. You always said I was more like Dad than I wanted to believe." Sam laughed, but it wasn't a joyful sound. "You were right. I can't give it up."

Dean tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Sam was right, he didn't know how to make it work. He hadn't when the roles were reversed and he didn't now.

"I'm gonna ask you something," Sam said, his voice hushed and raw. "Your wife said that before she told you she was pregnant, you took off for a month." Sam looked at him, the light of the full moon making his eyes reflect like a cat's. "You came to see me, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice just as hushed. That had been hard, harder than he'd thought it would be. He'd gone to Sam's hospital room, stayed with him, all the while knowing that Sam didn't want him there.

"If I'd woken up and asked you to go back on the road with me, would you have?"

Dean swallowed. "Don't ask me that."

"You didn't know she was pregnant. If I'd asked, would you have left her behind, never come back?"

Dean had thought about that before—it was hard not to. He wished he'd never fought with Sam, never left him on the side of the road in Georgia. But if he hadn't—if he hadn't, he would never have met Deb, never have had Sammy and he loved them more than anything. Usually when the thought crept up on him in the night he'd turn into the warmth of Deb's body, press his face to her neck, and convince himself that there could've been a way to have both. He couldn't imagine his life without them; somehow he would have had his baby girl even if Sam hadn't left. He had to believe that. He couldn't choose. "How could you ask me that?"

"No, Dean, I want to know. I want to know if your latest conquest meant more to you than your brother." Sam advanced on him, menacing in the dark. If Dean had learned one thing in the past few days it was that if Sam wanted to take him down, he could.

"Sam, you're talking about my wife. You're talking about _your niece_. I'm supposed to say it would have been better if I'd abandoned Deb and she got an abortion? Then things would be OK between us?"

Sam looked contrite, but he kept going. "No, I'm not asking you to say that—but what if Deb hadn't been pregnant? She wasn't your wife, she was just some chick. Would you have come with me or gone back to her?"

Dean wanted to lash out at Sam but knew that if he did Sam would take off again and this time Dean wouldn't see him again. Why the hell was Sam being like this? "It's not a competition."

"No?" Sam said. He put one hand on the side of Dean's face, rubbed small circles on his cheek with his thumb. _Oh, god_ , Dean thought. "I told you I was missing something when I left, that I needed to find something. You know what that is? The only thing I was missing when you were gone was you. I need _you_ , Dean. You have no idea how hard it's—" Sam squeezed his jaw shut; Dean could see the muscle clenching, Sam was so close. "I fucked up. I really fucked up when I left and I'm sorry, but why can't we just put it back the way it was?"

"Sammy…" Dean whispered. He could see his brother was in pain but he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Sam kissed him.

It was _nothing_ like the first time. Sam was hungry, possessive, pushing his tongue into Dean's mouth. He crushed Dean back against the truck. His brother was everywhere around him, in his mouth, one hand in his hair and the other wrapped around his back, leg pushing between his thighs, body pressing against him, bending him backwards. Dean felt small and helpless, like he had no part in this action, reduced to nothing in the face of Sam's need. He didn't like the feeling. At all.

Dean pushed his hands flat against Sam's chest and was more relieved than he wanted to admit when Sam let go, stepped back. Dean straightened up, heart pounding. Sam was looking at the ground.

"I think you need to stay someplace else tonight," Dean said, hoping his voice wasn't wavering as much as he thought it was.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I—"

"Just leave, Sam."

Dean stepped back from the truck and watched as his brother climbed in silently and drove off. He stood for a long time afterwards, pressing his fingers to his eyelids. He didn't know what to do with what had just happened. Why couldn't Sam just…let things be? He had to figure out how to fix this. He didn't know how he'd handle it if Sam took off again.

Long after the sound of Sam's truck had faded, Dean finally turned toward the house. He walked inside, closing the screen door as quietly as possible. He stepped into the kitchen and froze.

His wife was standing there, in front of the sink. In front of the window over the sink that looked right out to the driveway where he and Sam had been standing. Where Sam had kissed him. She was standing there, taut like a bowstring about to snap. She'd seen them.

~*~

"How could you? How could you?"

Deb was swinging at him indiscriminately, hitting any part of Dean she could reach. Her blows were wild, sloppy, striking with an open palm and fingers splayed, no force behind them. They didn't hurt Dean at all.

"You _pervert!_ Your own _brother!_ "

She was crying so hard snot was bubbling out of her nose. It should have been funny. It wasn't.

Dean wanted to restrain her, calm her down, but he didn't know how to grab her without hurting the baby. He just kept thinking that she was too uncontrolled; she'd hurt herself. He just had to calm her down.

He heard crying from the doorway. Sammy was standing there, watching her parents fight, and on the verge of a major temper tantrum. Dean started toward her. Deb slapped his face. Hard. That blow had some control behind it.

"Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_." Her voice was low and dangerous. "Don't you dare go near my baby girl."

"Deb—" Dean started, but he caught the look in his wife's eyes. She was looking at him like a stranger, like an intruder that had broken into her home and wanted to hurt her daughter. _His_ daughter.

"You get out."

"Please—" He reached out towards her and she scratched her nails down the back of his hand.

"Get out! Get out!" she screamed, the force behind it making the cries break and tear, mingling with the high-pitched shrieks of his daughter.

He left.

~*~

Dean walked straight out into the desert, away from the road, his house, his family, everything. His hands were balled into fists, held stiffly at his side.

He'd taught his daughter it wasn't safe to go into the desert. He'd held her in his lap as they watched ribbons of lightning dance from the black clouds overhead, sheltered behind the window in her bedroom, safe. He'd warned her about rattlers and scorpions and told her it was very important never to wander out there, especially at night.

Dean walked heedless of all that. It was black and empty, a vast wasteland stretching out into nothing in front of him.

~*~

Dean was still walking when first light tinged the sky. He'd been wandering in circles, had no idea where he was. It was a stupid mistake, an amateur mistake, the sort of thing that got people killed.

The pinks and oranges had given way to blue when he came in sight of his house again. He wasn't sure what was going to happen if he went inside. He went anyway.

Dean snuck into his own house like a thief, afraid to call out his wife's name as he had so many times before. He made his way through the kitchen and living room, back to the master bedroom and finally his daughter's room. They were all empty. The house was empty, a hollow husk clinging to the edge of the desert like it might blow away.

He'd painted the walls in Sammy's room a pale pink. He'd promised to get her lace curtains for the windows, but they hadn't had the room for them in the budget yet. The drawers on the dresser he'd pulled from the dump, stripped and repainted until it looked new, were open. He felt a blind panic creeping over him. He bolted into the bedroom he shared with Deb. Her half of the closet was empty.

They were gone.

~*~

Dean wasn't sure what his next move should be, so waiting seemed like the best option. He didn't know what he was waiting for. He sat at the kitchen table, jostling his leg nervously, listening to the tick of the clock.

Dean looked up when he heard the screen door bang. He'd expected Sam. It was Deb.

He started to stand but she held out a hand to stop him. He sank back into his chair. She crossed to the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter, putting as much space between them as possible.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse.

"I took her to my sister's. I'm staying there, too." Deb crossed her arms over her chest, gazing levelly at Dean. Dean had fallen for her because of her strength and fire. He was looking at that strength now.

"I didn't think you'd come back." Dean tried to say it as a joke, but his laugh was too close to a sob.

"To be honest, I didn't think I would either. But a girl needs her daddy. I owe it to her to give this a try. One try, Dean."

Dean nodded.

Deb took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Have you ever had sex with him?"

"No!" Dean spit out too quickly. "No. He's my baby brother."

"But you have kissed him before."

Dean clasped his hands on the table and stared at them, not seeing anything. "Once."

"And this whole week. Sharing a room with him. Not giving me a call to tell me when you were coming back. You're telling me nothing happened?" Her tone was sharp and accusatory.

"It wasn't like that. We just—it was a hunt. That's all. Nothing happened."

"Just like nothing happened last night? If this is all so innocent, were you planning on telling me about it? 'Hey, Deb. Good to see you. By the way, I cheated on you with my brother.'"

Dean's hands blurred in front of them. He gripped his fingers tightly, flesh turning white.

"How could you—" She bit off the words when some of last night's hysteria crept in. "How could you, Dean? How could you do that to me?"

"I—" _I didn't do it_ , Dean thought. _It was Sam_. But he didn't know if he could say that. It made it sound too much like he was agreeing with Deb, that he shared her anger in this. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt just the same about what Sam was doing, but it was Dean's fault for letting it get this far and he couldn't pretend like it wasn't. "You don't understand," he started again. "You don't know what it was like growing up. Moving all the time, hunting. All we had was each other. And then after our dad died—I was all Sam had. I'm all he has."

"Right, so I should just let this happen. He's fucked up, you're fucked up, so it's alright?"

"No! I don't know!" Dean looked at his wife. "It just—Sammy thinks he needs this and I don't know what to do."

Deb looked at him for a long moment. "Sam needs this. Just Sam." Dean looked back down at the table and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again his eyelashes clung together. He was supposed to protect Sam and it felt like he'd just sold him out. "This is why you two split up four years ago, isn't it." It wasn't a question. More like the sound of Deb finally putting together the Winchester puzzle. "What—he wanted to fuck you, you didn't, so you left."

Dean grit his teeth. "It's complicated."

"No I really don't think it is." Deb stood there for a long time, looking at him implacably. Dean couldn't help seeing this through her eyes, just how fucked he really was. And he still didn't know a way out. "I don't want him in this house."

Dean looked up at her.

"What I saw can't ever happen again."

"It won't," Dean rushed to reassure her. "I promise it won't."

"Good," Deb said flatly. "But I still don't want him in this house. I don't want him near me and I don't want him near my daughter."

Dean felt like she had reached in and twisted his guts. "Sam wouldn't."

"How sure are you of that? He wants to fuck his brother, I'm supposed to just trust him with his niece?"

Dean felt the pain turning into anger. "Sam would _never_ hurt her."

"He's trying to take her father away from her. You don't think that hurts her?"

Dean looked back at the table, clenching his jaw. He could feel a tear sliding down the side of his nose. Everything was falling apart.

"Here's what's going to happen," Deb said. "Sam is going to get in his truck and he's going to drive away from here and not come back. You can be in that truck with him or—" The sureness of her voice broke for a moment and Dean could hear all the pain she was feeling. God, he had hurt her so badly. She covered quickly and went on. "Or you can be here."

"Please don't ask me to choose," Dean whispered. He could hear his voice catch and couldn't stop it. "He's my brother."

"I know," Deb said, her voice softening. "I know you love him. But you have to see, Dean, this is the way it has to be." The softness disappeared and she straightened her shoulders. "I'm going back to Becky's. I'll be back tomorrow. One way or another, you need to decide by then."

Deb walked past him toward the door. She stopped, brushed her hand over his shoulder. The tenderness of it broke something inside him. He took a breath and it came out a choked cry.

"I'm sorry," Deb said quietly, then walked out the door.

~*~

He heard tires crunching over the dirt in the driveway in late afternoon. Sam, tail between his legs. Dean wondered why it had taken Sam the whole day to come back. Maybe he'd been working up his courage. Maybe he'd gotten drunk at the topless bar and gone home with one of the girls, pushing into her and thinking about Dean. Maybe Sam thought if he timed it right he could swing by when Dean's wife wasn't home and they could keep this thing going without Deb ever being the wiser.

Dean slammed the screen door open and stalked out into the yard. Sam was just climbing out of the truck, coming around the side toward him. He must have caught something on Dean's face because he looked concerned. "Dean, what happened? What's wrong?"

Dean didn't stop moving, walked right up to his brother and threw a punch as hard as he could, square on Sam's jaw. He knocked him to the ground. Pain shot up Dean's arm but he knew from experience it was nothing compared to what Sam was feeling.

"What the hell, man?" Sam groaned, then spat blood into the dirt.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean yelled.

"What?" Sam asked, looking bewildered. He hadn't made a move to get up. Dean was pretty sure that if he did, he'd knock him down again.

"Don't 'what' me—you know exactly what this is about."

Sam winced. "I—I said I was sorry. I can't help what I feel."

"Oh, you're real fucking sorry." Dean kicked at the dirt, sending a shower of dust over Sam's torso. "My wife saw us. She _saw_ you kiss me."

Sam sat up slowly. He looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"She left, Sam. She took my daughter and she left me." Dean let himself feel the fear that had gripped him when he'd seen they were gone. He couldn't lose them. He couldn't lose his family.

"God, Dean—I didn't mean for that to happen."

"Yeah, I'm sure it was a completely unforeseeable event," Dean sneered. "You ask me if I'd leave them for you. I'm real sure you didn't mean for this to happen."

Sam stood slowly, holding his hands out as if Dean were a skittish dog he needed to soothe. "I'm sorry, Dean. You have to believe me—I wasn't thinking. I'd never want you to lose your daughter, Dean, you have to know that."

"Oh, right. So if you didn't mean for Deb to see, then this was supposed to be a secret? You and I would sneak off alone together every now and then and—what?"

"I…I just wasn't thinking," Sam said pathetically.

"You weren't thinking," Dean said bitterly.

"Hey," Sam said. "Don't get all self-righteous about this. I seem to remember that being your excuse about four years ago."

"Sam," Dean said, cutting him off. "You want me to commit _incest_. You want me to cheat on my wife with you. Don't even try to deny that." He pointed a finger at Sam's face. Sam kept his mouth shut. "I've made my fair share of mistakes but nothing I've ever done compares to that."

"I'm sorry," Sam repeated. "I just feel like I've been riding around with a hole in my chest for four years because I missed you so bad."

"You think I've been all peaches and cream? You're the only one hurting?" The next words came out in a rush, like Dean couldn't hold the anger back. "And whose fucking fault is that Sammy? I remember you walking out on me. Again."

"I know, it was a mistake. But—then I find you and you have a family? I've barely been making it from day to day and you just what—moved on with your life? You have to expect that I'd be a little bit upset about that."

"You are so fucking selfish, Sammy," Dean said with disgust. "You always have been. You think your feelings are the only ones that matter here?" Dean's voice was edging toward a yell again. "Yeah, I have a family, Sam. Because you left me. _You_ left _me_. Did you think I'd just wait around until you put your head back on straight? I did that once already. I'm not doing it again."

"Don't bring Stanford into this. That was different and you know it."

"What I know is that my brother 'needs me' until he suddenly has to go find himself and he chucks me over."

"Dean, listen—"

"No, you listen. I gave you everything I could. And it wasn't enough for you. Why couldn't you just take what I offer and have it be enough? You have to have everything so you leave me with nothing. Now I have something that makes me happy and you want me to lose it? What kind of a brother are you?"

"Dean, I'm sorry."

Sam meant it. Dean could tell. No matter what Deb said, Dean knew Sam wouldn't try anything again, he'd put it behind him if he had to. But it was too late for that. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly. "It's not your fault, Sammy. I know you can't help how you feel. I don't blame you." He needed to give Sam absolution because of what he had to do next.

Sam moved toward him, but not too close. Dean didn't think he'd ever walk too close again. "I was angry last night, Dean, and I said a lot of things I regret—and did a lot of things I regret. I am so sorry it hurt you."

"I know," Dean said. He felt all the emotion draining away, turning into something like resignation. "We were never meant for happy endings, right?" Dean half laughed. "We both did what we could." Sam was looking at him, open and broken, and Dean knew that he could give his brother everything he wanted if he just said the right words next. But those weren't the words he was going to say.

Dean turned his back on Sam, strode away. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to pull himself back together. What he had to say now was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever said. "Sam, you can't come around here anymore."

"What?" Sam said quietly.

"I need you to leave here and not come back." Dean turned back to him. "I can't lose my family, Sam. I can't."

"Dean, I'm your family."

Dean bit his cheek.

"Dean—I need you. I can't keep going alone."

Dean looked his brother hard in the eyes. "They need me more."

Sam swallowed and ducked his head, accepting it. He climbed into his truck and started the engine. Dean tried not to notice him swiping at his eyes before pulling the truck out of his driveway. It jerked as he turned onto the main road, then accelerated. Then it was gone.

When Deb brought Sammy home, Dean was waiting for them. He smiled big for his daughter and scooped her into a hug. Dean had always known he'd do anything for his family. He'd just thought that his family would always be Sam. Now he knew better.

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken many liberties with the geography West Texas, so apologize to all residents of Coyanosa. Their town is not just a truck stop. There is, though, somewhere, a strip club named Nightmoves.


End file.
